


Shift Work

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [11]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Jeremy is still an asshole, M/M, One Shot, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Working Overtime, anonymous request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Anonymous Asked:Jeremy Blaire/Waylon Park + working overtime.So here is my take on how that would go. Jeremy is still an asshole by the way.





	Shift Work

 

He was counting down the minutes until the end of his shift just as he did each and every day. Looking forward to collapsing into his bed back at his staff quarters and finding solace in sleep after a long endless day of coding, programs and angry scientists and doctors riding his back because they spilled coffee in a keyboard and expect him to magically fix a shorted computer system. That was once again the thrills of his day, complete with uploading an entire hard drive from a thoroughly destroyed laptop that took a wrong turn off a ledge after being thumped a couple times by an irate and lose patient. It’s screen was shattered beyond use and Waylon was forced to connect the data to his laptop then stream it into a whole other laptop which was hours of sorting, coding, protecting and finally uploading.

 

That’s when his shitty company provided laptop didn’t overheat and freeze from the massive data dump it was doing. He sighed, took a sip of his already cold and bitter coffee, draining the last few drops with a shudder as he rested back in his chair. Stretching his arms above his head and popping his sore back. He was sick and tired of being hunched over his computer. He’d give anything just to go out for a walk and breath the fresh air and enjoy a day away from work but he couldn’t. Work took priority and staff weren’t allowed to leave without expressed permission from top brass. Staff weren’t even allowed to contact the outside world even. They talked about corporate espionage but Waylon knew better. He knew the shit going on here didn’t seem right.

 

On top of the fact his boss supervisor worked him to the bone. He was pulling more hours then he was being paid for and the other staff members were so stuffy about shit. He couldn’t say anything back to them about any issues. Always “Mister Park, do this. Mister Park, fix that.” He cursed under his breath and curled his fingers into his blonde locks, tugging on them. He was jolted out of his thoughts when a far too familiar voice barked over the headset on his computer and a small square video clip was in the corner of his screen. “Mister Park!” A dark haired man with icy blue eyes narrowed at him. Waylon couldn’t recall when the video screen had opened up but he straightened up and fixed the mic on his ear piece.

 

“Yes Mr. Blaire?” He asked in a timid tone. He knew he was all talk when within the safety of his own thoughts but when he was faced with his tyrant of a boss, he couldn’t muster the courage or balls to say these things to his face.

 

“Your shift doesn’t end until that program is finished and I want to see you in my office as soon as it’s done.” The voice was cold and concise. A chill running along Waylon’s spine as the order was given and before he could give a word of affirmation, the screen blinked out into darkness. He cursed under his breath, taking the earpiece off and tossing it aside on his desk. His eyes turned to the clock on his laptop, displaying the time as a quarter to seven.

 

He got up and went to the staff kitchen and refilled his cup with coffee, grabbed a granola bar from the shared vending machine and made his way back to his workspace to continue on. He worked until his head was throbbing and the coffee ran out. Far into the night to the point the only person he saw pass by was the occasional security guard doing their rounds and checking in to see if he was still alive in the dark little room. The only lighting being the laptop screen and a dim lamp light sitting on his desk.

 

It was nearing two in the morning when he finally finished, Sending the final updates for the program to the head of the department i.e his stuck up supervisor with an email stating he was done. His head was throbbing, a migraine had settled behind his eyes and was working it’s way through the rest of his head. His laptop sat off to the side, in sleep mode. Allowing it a moment’s break as he closed his eyes, resting his head in his folded arms and lying with his chest against the desk top. He figured he had earned a couple minutes to take a break. His eyes were killing him from staring at a computer screen for so long.

 

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep like that. Making the mistake of taking a breather, he disregarded the earlier order to present himself before his boss. But then again, it was 2 in the morning. He didn’t think Jeremy Blaire of all people would still be up. After all, cold hearted pricks like him needed his beauty sleep while all the work horses bust their asses day and night to keep this empire of insanity going.

 

“Waylon Park.” A voice filled the silence of the room and caused Waylon to jolt upright in his seat. Causing the chair to scoot back a little, screeching against the concrete floor. His blue eyes slightly bloodshot from exhaustion and dark rings formed beneath them from sleep deprivation and overworking. His head whipped around the room, almost missing the looming figure standing next to his desk in the darkness. The dark blue suit blending into the rest of the darkness of the room and the face was shrouded as well but the voice was far too familiar and chilling for Waylon to miss.

 

He swallowed dryly, his body tense in his seat as his nerves set in. He could feel those cold eyes resting on him. Could feel them burning holes through him and could already imagine the dark smirk pulling at the corners of the man’s lips. He enjoyed catching people off guard. Enjoyed seeing them slip up and being the one to hand down punishment. As was he joys of being bossman with a company full of slaves.

 

“Mr. Blaire, I-” He starts but is quickly cut off with a cold slice of the older man’s voice.

 

“Skip the excuses Mr. Park. You disregarded a direct order from your employer. That doesn’t look good at all Waylon. I should write you up for insubordination.” Waylon leans back in his chair as the taller man steps forward. His appearance was as clean and put together as if this were the middle of a work day and not the middle of the night. Jeremy leans forward, causing Waylon to go stiff as his hands are placed on the arms of the chair, boxing the techie in. No escape and no way to really defend himself should the need arise. With Jeremy Blaire present, that need was a constant alarm in the back of his mind. The man was too smart to be safe. Too dangerous. Just like this whole damn company. He was a predator and everyone who existed within the confines of these walls, staff and patients alike, they were all prey.

 

Waylon felt a twinge of fear slice through him and his heart kick started into a rapid pulse that was pumping far too hard in his chest. He could have sworn with how close his boss now was, that he would be able to hear the thud, thud, thud, of it banging against his ribcage. Something else rose from their close proximity. Waylon found himself anticipating the other’s actions. Not in a normal way either. He felt Blaire’s leg bump the inside of his thigh as he closed the space. They were almost nose to nose now. He could smell the musk of his superior’s cologne. The spice in it that accompanied an expensive brand. He drew it in through his nostrils with his quicker breathes.

 

His nerves rose as he became acutely aware of smaller details. The fresh shave that kept the man looking sharp. The careful way his hair was combed back to look neat and stylish and yet hold danger and power in his appearance. The fresh scent of a new suit, not one that had been worn all day long and worked in. There were no wrinkles or blemishes on it. Not even on the white undershirt. No disarray in the way it was buttoned at the base of his throat. Hell, Waylon could even feel the heat of the man’s body in the colder air of this god forsaken workplace. The lower levels were always freezing cold and Waylon always wore two layers. Yet at the moment, they felt like far too many. He shifted uncomfortably as his gaze diverted as if fearing the man could read his thoughts or see what sort of mischief he had been thinking earlier.

 

He squirmed in place, causing their legs to bump together once more and Blaire’s eyes narrowed on Waylon, noticing him fleeing his gaze. He clicked his tongue in displeasure and reached up to grip the male by the chin. “Eyes on me Mr. Park. It’s impolite to ignore somebody who’s speaking to you. Most of all, your superior.” Waylon swallowed thickly, feeling those fingers press against his skin, tightening with warning as Waylon’s pale blue orbs met those icy pools. The cold chill that followed was accompanied with a conflicting heat that wormed it’s way into his gut.

 

“Y-yes Mr. Blaire.” He mumbled, unable to open his mouth all the way through the tight grasp holding it in place. He wanted to shrink back away from it. To push his chair back so he could build space between them but he couldn’t muster the strength to move or the courage to disobey this man’s will. He was plagued with a level of fear that was driven by the undeniable power this man’s presence alone held. It was terrifying and, as shameful as Waylon was of the fact, somewhat arousing. He found attraction in powerful people. People who were strong, independent and confident. After all, that’s the kind of person his wife was. Only her presence held warmth and love. Those chocolate orbs would make him melt with the softest of gazes. But these eyes now on him, they froze him to the spot.

 

“Next time you disobey me Waylon, it will not end well for you. There are consequences to your actions.” He felt Blaire shift, the way his knee pressed into the chair, right up against Waylon’s inner thigh had him seeing white. He hadn’t realized how touch starved he was until this moment. Since being contracted by Murkoff, personal relief was the last thing on his mind. Especially since he was being worked like a dog day and night. He was too exhausted at the end of the day to even think about relaxing in that way. Plus it was just too embarrassing to admit he had that kind of need. He missed his wife, that was for sure. He spent many nights fantasizing about her being beside him in his small bed in his shitty cramped quarters.

 

His breath hitched and his fingers curled into tight fists as he reined himself back in. Snuffing out those desires as quickly as he could but he couldn’t deny himself completely and it was far too late to truly hide the truth. He was aroused. With his boss looming over him, talking about consequences and disobedience no less. Worst of all, as Blaire slowly lets go and begins to straighten up, he notices. Sees the flush in Waylon’s cheeks that are from more than just the cold air of the lower levels.

 

He notices the slight bulges in the smaller male’s trouser and doesn’t even attempt to hide the laugh that follows. He straightened up and placed his foot in the space between the blonde’s legs, pressing the chair back to be pinned against the wall as the tip of his expensive Italian leather designer shoes prods the space. Waylon grips the arm of the chair and uses his other hand to push at the tip of the shoe as he curses under his breath. His gaze quickly drops to the floor and his posture becomes smaller as if trying to hide in plain sight. His face burns red, the new color reaching up to the tips of his ears as he closes his eyes. “Missing home Mr. Park? Or maybe just the touch of that lovely wife of yours?”

 

Despite Waylon’s attempts to fend it off, the shoe presses down harder and draws a shuddering cry from Waylon’s lips. He gives a shaky breath, shoulders trembling as he shifts his legs in an attempt to protect that area from further harassment. Jeremy tsked the techie’s actions and gave a firm shove with his foot. The chair creaked from the force and Waylon’s body jerked back. His head tipping back slightly as he held back a cry from creeping up his throat. His breathing was elevated to panting breathes by time Jeremy seemed satisfied. Having Waylon in a state of desperation for the time being as well as seeing those pale blue puppy dogs eyes filled with mortification and shame. He knew what the techie was thinking. The look was clear as day on the simple man’s face. He knew he was filthy. He was disgraceful and weak to desire. To the influence of need.

 

Jeremy’s lips twisted up into a smirk of approval as he pulled his foot back. Watching Waylon’s shoulder slouch and his hands weave together, folded over that place as if he could hide the truth now. But it was far too late and Waylon knew it. He knew it by the pitiful attempts to take back what had just unfolded between them. The dark haired male tucked his hands into his pockets as he loomed over the male. “Mr. Park.” Waylon’s head snapped up, his gaze meeting Jeremy’s quickly, fearing the man would continue where he left off his he didn’t obey. “You are to return to your quarters. Should these transgressions be repeated, you will not like the ramifications. Am I understood Mr. Park?”

 

“Y-yes sir M-Mr. Blaire.” Waylon stumbled for words, nodding fervently in the process.

 

“Good. I’ll be seeing you first thing tomorrow morning then.” Jeremy said with ease as he turned around and left the room in a nonchalant manner. Leaving Waylon sitting there in his chair, flustered and faced with a whole new problem to deal with.


End file.
